


Those Letters Unsend

by Kare



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst?, Character Study, Freeform, after the mid credit scene, mails
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-23 20:05:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7478097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kare/pseuds/Kare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nat sends a peace offering. Appearantly Bucky used to have an eMail account.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Nat had send a peace offering.

Steve took it for what it was.

There was his sketch book, his list of things he missed. Some pens.

All wrapped in a finely textured paper sporting ocean like patterns.

Bucky had just gone back under and Steve didn't feel like using any of this.

Bucky had not wanted to go back under, nor had Steve wanted to let him. And yet they had discussed it with the passion of two adults agreeing that the family cat needed to be neutered.

It was sickening.

Like they were just one sentence short of stopping all of this, but neither one of them had known which sentence that was.

Steve had not feel like going through his stuff. It was more luck then anything else that he caught an all to familiar scribble on one of the pages of his note book.

It was an email address and something that looked like a password.

Well, it did, if you knew Nat and were prepared to put the pieces together.

The account in question was startingly empty. There was nothing. Not even a single spam mail.

After clicking around for a bit Steve stumbled over the draft folder. There were mails upon mails.

The oldest came first. It was from September 2014.

Half a year after the Triskelion went down.

A though Steves mind could not help supplying.

It was not much more then a curious observation, before Steve klicked the first Mail.

 

~

 

_I find it fairly ridiculous, but playing with this thing helps me to blend in._

_People stare less and ignore me more._

_It's. .. surreal?_

 

~

 

Steve could practically feel his Adrenaline spiking up.

Could this...?

He clicked for another.

 

~

 

_I mean, I am writing to myself, for Christ's sake!  People can't be that stupid. This can't convince anyone._

_It's about as useful as writing one of those short message things to oneself._

 

~

 

He kept clicking.

 

~

 

_I don't even have anyone who would want to read this._

 

~

 

_Which isn't true_

 

~

 

_Which maybe isn't true_

 

~

 

_I can't do this_

 

~

 

_Your mail and your password were embarrassingly easy to guess_

 

_I know I should not snoop._

_Not because it is not right._

_But because it will make that voice of yours stronger in my head._

 

_I can't have you there. Not beside everything else. Not When I am not even sure if I would keep you save._

 

~

 

_Or if we would keep you save._

 

_Because I know he was there._

_Like a picture. Superimposed on My body. On my face._

_I know what he did._

 

_And when you won that fight, he got up and left._

 

~

 

_He only left his memories._

 

~

 

_And emptiness_

 

~

 

_I want you to know that I didn't steal this phone_

 

~

 

_I don't even know why saying this is important_

 

~

 

_It was a lie_

_These people certainly aren't ignoring me now_

 

~

 

Steves breath caught.

There was no name.

He hoped. He guessed. He knew it in the marrow of his bones.

In his mind those messages could only be read in one voice.

And when he went back to check the time stamps he realized that those mails were all... not send, but at least composed in less then half an hour.

Bucky could have been anywhere.

 

He took a deep breath and clicked for another.

 

~

 

_I buried a man in Budapest._

_Me._

_This version of me_

_Who ever that currently is._

_I had too_

_There was no other choice._

_It was easier then you would think._

 

~

 

It was the first time in quiet some time that Steve wished for a drink. Or rather: for something to get him drunk.


	2. Chapter 2

You had always assumed that you would die young.

Some of my wildest memories happened because you insisted that we had to do something right _now_...

 

* * *

 

 

I am not picky. Far from it. But back on the run I did turn down one cheap lodging.

The price really was impossible to beat.

Just that there was a brightly neon colored tooth, blinking right outside of the bedroom window.

I knew right that second that staying was another nightmare in the making.

 

* * *

 

 

I still sometimes see you

In my mind

Splayed out on our bed

Watching dust dance

And sketching in your head

As if all the universe was yours to see

 

* * *

 

 

I never told you why some of your best sketches went missing

I know you would have parted with them if I had asked

But that would have meant admitting admiring them first.

 

* * *

 

 

I still know how to crotchet.

I even know how to knit.

Only that the left needle has a tendency to get bend.

And what is the point in that?

 

* * *

 

 

I keep repeating that day in my head.

That day when you just stood in my apartment, looking at the fridge, leafing through my words, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

If you had worn something else, anything, really, even nothing at all…

You could have asked the world of me.

 

* * *

 

 

Slowly, as the drugs wore off, my body became responsive to even the most minute touch of air.

If you ever wanted to make me come just from blowing on my ribs, you missed your chance.

 

* * *

 

 

Food programs…

Do you have any idea how many countries I traveled? Where they send me to?

You probably do.

You are you after all…

I never even heard about half of this stuff.

Much less tasted it.

… And they just sell these things on every street corner.

I never meant to have an existentialist crisis over plumps.

You have no idea how hard I fought myself, just to figure whether or not I was allowed.

If, even then, I could allow them for myself…

The answer should have been no.

It wasn’t.

 

* * *

 

 

I am a sniper.

For a few weeks I lost the ability to sit still.

I could force myself to be still.

I could appear still.

But my fingers itched, my arms twitched and I was convinced everyone had to be staring at me.

This isn’t useful when you are on the run.

Truth be told, this isn’t useful, no matter what.

What settled me were three small kittens.

Their mother was nowhere to be found.

And young as they were: they had already perfected that pleading sound that makes you want to help without thinking things through.

It took me the better part of two hours to find some water, a bit of fish and a hopefully loving home for them - all in a language I don’t know.

I would like to think that you would have been proud of me.

But what’s more: for a brief moment I was okay with myself.

 

* * *

 

 

I do remember her.

The woman with the red hair.

She went by half a dozens names.

As did I.

 

We were both to dangerous to leave alone.

 

I know what she can do.

 

And I am afraid what acknowledging her, letting her back into my life… would do to my sanity.

 

* * *

 

 

I remember so many strange things…

Things that realistically speaking can’t be true.

But what if I do recall drinking beer with a tree and a raccoon?

At least no one was hurt in this one.

 

* * *

 

 

They say that if you look long enough into an abyss, it will inevitably look back into you.

I remember my kills.

A lot better then I like.

A sound can set me off.

A color.

A smell.

Or a mixture of those.

And it is there: a memory.

Like an ax to my brain.

Shattering now.

And forcing me to watch back then.

And for the briefest moment, I remember it all.

The why, when, where, what…

I could give any mission debriefing.

And it is the last that any of these people deserve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not entirely sure about the chronology, but... I read some modern poetry lately. Somehow this translated to new memories for Bucky.
> 
> Still not sure if there is going to be more...

**Author's Note:**

> I am not yet sure whether or not I will turn this into a series. All I know is that this day would have send me into a tailspin if I had not taken the time to compose this during my train rides... the idea had been nagging at me for a while. Bucky keeping some kind of impromto diary, apart from the notebooks in his apartment. Something to just... some way to answer to that Steve-sounding voice that sometimes comes into his mind and that refuses to judge, no matter what.


End file.
